Feb 27
I keep forgetting to post to tumblr but I think y'all will like this one~
seen from United States
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seen from Singapore
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seen from China
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I keep forgetting to post to tumblr but I think y'all will like this one~
miya atsumu didn't believe in love at first sight until it happened to him.
he and osamu made it to school by the skin of their teeth, just before the physical education teacher closed the gate. the twins shared a look of relief before both grabbed each other by the collar.
"ya almost made us late, 'tsumu," osamu snarled, shaking atsumu's collar.
atsuma sneered, "hah?! don't pin this on me, 'samu! yer the one who wouldn't stop hoggin' breakfast!"
"that's 'cuz ya keep eatin' my share, dumbass!"
"yer share?! ma said that plate was f'me!"
before their argument could escalate, a startled shout intervened. atsumu snapped his head towards the gate, seeing you run while fixing your blazer. you were loudly begging the teacher to open the gates for you, but he just shook his head and pointed at his watch, indicating that you were far too late and have to be noted as such.
"damn, sucks to be her," osamu muttered, pushing atsumu away from him. "if ya didn't take yer fat ass outta kitchen, we'd probably be with her by now."
atsumu felt his temple throb the more he listen to his twin. he was about to retort, maybe even call osamu the fat ass twin by how much he eats and demands another serving, but his voice died in his throat as he watched you effortlessly jump over the gates by scaling the walls and gaining momentum via a kick. his eyes never left your flying figure as you landed a few feet away from him.
you squatted when your feet touched the ground, an exhilarated smile spreading on your lips as you congratulated yourself for a job well done. the teacher's mouth hung open, looking back and forth from the gate—which was around six feet tall or more. he groaned, dragging both hands down his face as he instructed you towards the faculty room. the smile on your face immediately vanished, replaced by a cute pout.
"woah," atsumu managed to breath out, heart racing as the scene of you jumping replayed in his mind again and again. he'd never seen anyone jump that high before nor anyone who managed to jump over the school gate that gracefully. his heart thumped against his chest, faint red spreading on his neck, cheeks, and ears as he watched you get scolded by the teacher.
when you noticed a pair of twins watching your scolding, you whined in embarrassment. as the teacher guided you towards tne entrance, you sent a small wave them.
atsumu choked on his spit when you waved at him. he pointed at himself, blinking rapidly, then waved back excitedly. he was unaware of the shaky smile on his lips nor the prominent blush coating his face.
"yer red as a tomato, 'tsumu," osamu cackled, silently taking photos of his twin as backmail material. "don't tell me ya fell in love with that girl!"
atsumu immediately jumped on osamu, shaking his shoulders. "the hell're ya sayin', 'samu?! yer seein' things 'cuz ya ate too much octo sausages earlier!"
"hah?! don't drag ma's octo sausages into this, 'tsumu! just admit ya finally have a crush on a girl!"
"shut yer trap!"
"both of you, go to yer classes already!" a passing teacher snapped at them.
the twins paused and made themselves presentable, nodding. they sneered each other as they finally entered their school building, changing into their indoor shoes.
as atsumu walked towards his classroom, he couldn't help but wish that you were his classmate... not that he'd admit it out loud, though.
handsy 250K likes special
timeskip!miya atsumu x f!reader
boyfriend!atsumu can’t keep his hands to himself. they’re always on you.. or in. c/w: 1.7k, fluff, heavily suggestive !! read at your own risk :3
this thing starts with a sock. yes, your sock. which atsumu had tucked into his practice bag like a holy relic because he claimed it ‘smelled like home,’ which was just a fancy way of saying he’s a massive weirdo who can’t function if he isn’t within breathing distance of your skin cells.
being msby’s star setter apparently didn’t come with enough ego to offset the fact that he was, at his core, a cling-wrap. he loves you so much, he was colonizing your personal space. if you were a planet, atsumu was the moon, the atmosphere, and the annoying little satellites circling you 24/7.
it wasn’t just the sock though. it was the way he’d walk into the apartment after a ten-hour day of jumping and sweating, look at you sitting on the couch, and collapse onto your lap like a felled redwood tree. he merges into your very soul. and now, he’s currently trying to achieve some sort of biological symbiosis where your skin ended and his began.
“yer heart’s beating real fast,” he mumbled, his face pressed so firmly into the crook of your neck that his voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. “is it ‘cause i’m home? did ya miss me that much? i bet ya did. i bet ya were cryin’ at the door like a lonely puppy.”
the irony was thicker than his kansai accent. atsumu was the one who had sent forty-seven line stickers of a weeping bear while he was in the locker room. he was the one currently on top of the moon with the sheer intensity of being within grabbing range.
“‘tsum, you’re literally crushing my internal organs,” you teased, though your fingers were already tangled in those bleached-blonde locks, scratching at the scalp where the sweat had dried.
he let out a sound that was half-purr, half-whimper, a pathetic little noise that had no business coming from a man who could serve a volleyball at speeds that caused sonic booms. he shifted, crawling upward until he was straddling your lap, his massive frame dwarfing the cushions. his hands—those famous, expensive setter hands—didn’t go for your waist. no, he went straight for the hem of your shirt, slipping his palms underneath to feel the heat of your lower back. his skin was always scorching, like he was perpetually running a fever of 110 percent devotion.
“can’t help it,” he whispered, nipping at your jawline with a desperation that was frankly embarrassing for his brand deals. “i spent all day dealin’ with bokuto’s screamin’ and shō’s energy. ‘m depleted. ‘m a battery at one percent, darlin’. need ta recharge.”
he started trailing kisses up your neck, each one sounding like a suction cup. he was so needy. he wanted to consume your entire essence. he was simpy in the way a victorian poet was simpy—just absolute, unadulterated brain-rot for the person he loved.
“did ya notice the missing sock?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look at you with those hooded, dark eyes.
“the one you stole from the laundry basket? atsumu, that’s theft. i’m calling the police.”
“call ‘em,” he challenged, a lopsided, arrogant grin breaking through his sad puppy facade. “tell ‘em yer boyfriend is a criminal for lovin’ ya. tell ‘em he’s got a fetish for cotton blends that touch yer ankles. see if they care.”
he leaned in, his nose brushing yours. atsumu was a tactile glutton. even when he wasn’t kissing you, he had to be touching you. a toe on your foot, a finger hooked in your belt loop, his chin resting on your shoulder. he was a human ivy plant, and you were the sturdy brick wall he was intent on overtaking.
“i’m takin’ ya to the game tomorrow,” he murmured, his hands wandering lower, his thumbs hooking into the waistband of your pajamas. “i want everyone to see ya. i want ‘em to know why i’m playin’ so good. ‘cause i gotta get home to this. to you.”
the devotion in his voice was enough to make your teeth ache. it was sweet, sticky, and utterly relentless. he pulled you closer, if that was even physically possible, and buried his face in your chest.
“yer so soft. why’re ya so soft? it’s unfair. i’m all muscle and angles and yer just... perfect.”
∞ྀི
the msby black jackals locker room smelled like deep heat, expensive cologne, and the lingering scent of victory. the game had ended twenty minutes ago, and while the rest of the team was busy shouting about post-game yakiniku, atsumu was a man on a mission.
he had spotted you in the stands—obviously, he’d spent half the warm-ups staring at your section until barnes told him to focus—and the moment the final whistle blew, his clingy meter had redlined.
you barely had time to step into the hallway before a large, sweaty hand shot out, grabbed your wrist, and hauled you into the darkened secondary locker room. the door slammed shut with a heavy thud!, and suddenly, you were pinned against a row of cold metal lockers.
but the lockers weren’t cold for long. atsumu was a radiator.
“missed ya,” he growled, and he didn’t wait for a reply.
his mouth crashed onto yours with the force of a man who had been wandering a desert for forty days. it wasn’t a gentle ‘hello’ kiss. it was a ‘i haven’t seen you in three hours and i’m losing my mind’ kiss. his tongue pushed past your lips with an impatient flick, demanding entry, demanding everything.
he tasted like gatorade and pure hunger. his hands were everywhere—one tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back to give him better access, the other wandering down, gripping your thigh and hitching it up around his waist.
“‘tsumu—” you gasped into his mouth, the sound immediately swallowed by another deep, wet slide of his tongue.
“shut up,” he breathed, his voice a low, vibrating rumble against your lips. “just let me... god, i’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout this since the second set. you in my jersey. lookin’ all cute. makin’ me want to jump the rails, carry ya off, and bend you over on the shower room.”
he broke the kiss only to attack your neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin right below your ear. he wasn’t being careful, not at all. he left a mark—a dark, blossoming hickey that screamed property of miya atsumu—and he did it with a smug little hum of satisfaction.
his hand slid under your top, lifting it with his palm hot and calloused as it cupped your chest, his thumb raking over it through the lace of your bra. you let out a sharp, jagged breath as he starts squeezing, licking, and sucking through the lace, your fingers digging into the damp fabric of his jersey. the contrast was insane—the high-octane professional athlete out on the court, and this desperate, trembling mess of a man in the dark.
his touch heavy and possessive, he wanted to feel every curve, every inch of skin he’d been deprived of during the match. his kisses moved back to your mouth, sloppier now, more frantic. you could hear the wet, rhythmic sounds of the both of you making out echoing off the lockers—the slide of tongues, the hitch of your breath, the low, needy groans he kept making in the back of his throat.
he pulled your bottom lip between his teeth and tugged, hard, before soothing the sting with a slow, agonizing lick. he was acting like he wanted to climb inside your ribcage.
“ya taste so good,” he muttered, his forehead resting against yours as you both panted for air. his eyes were blown out, dark and glazed with a terrifying amount of affection. “i’m gonna go home and i’m gonna keep ya awake all night. i’m gonna kiss every single inch of ya until ya forget yer own name. ya hear me?”
you couldn’t even form a sentence. your brain was mush. atsumu took your silence as a challenge, leaning back in to suck on your pulse point, his hands firmly kneading your hips as if he were trying to mold you into a shape that fit him better.
“miya! we’re leaving! don’t tell me you’re still lookin’ for that sock!” sakusa’s muffled, disgusted voice drifted from the hallway.
atsumu stiffened, letting out a frustrated hiss. he didn’t pull away, though. instead, he pressed the tent of his shorts against you one last time, a heavy, grounding pressure that made your heart do backflips.
“i’m never lettin’ ya go,” he whispered, a promise that sounded a lot like a threat to your personal space.
he pulled back just an inch, his eyes scanning your face with a look so tender it was almost painful. he reached out, thumbing a stray drop of saliva from the corner of your mouth then putting it in his, his expression shifting from feral predator back to hopelessly devoted boyfriend in a heartbeat.
“go wait by the bus, darlin’. i’ll be out in two minutes. and if i see any guy lookin’ at that mark i just gave ya, i’m hittin’ ‘em with a jump serve.”
he gave you one last, quick peck on the nose—a jarringly wholesome contrast to the debauchery of the last five minutes—and watched you walk out with the gaze of a man who had just won the lottery and was terrified someone would steal the ticket.
atsumu was a lot of things: a champion, a twin brother, a fatty, a public figure. but mostly, he was just a guy who would happily live in your pocket if the laws of physics allowed it. and as you walked toward the bus, feeling the tingle on your lips and the weight of his mark on your neck, you knew there wasn’t a single place in the world he’d rather be than stuck to you like cosmic glue.
he was already texting you before you reached the exit.
slave: “should we try the sturdiness of every furniture again? we’re buying new furnitures with your favorite color if we stain them too much.”
n: awooga, this was kept in my drafts for my eyes only. but i reached a milestone, so there goes my selfish desires.
ps. suggestive fics are in between smut and fluff, no one can torch me for this.
masterlist - the art of haikyū!!
© showhay — don’t copy, repost, or translate without my permission. do not use/feed my works to AI.
iloveu
locker rooms are gateways to homosexual activity
adding the non-shaded ver here bc i rlly like it
it was only a matter of time before i drew them shirtless and i hate myself for doing so bc male anatomy is evil and idk why i made myself suffer like that
and actually while i’m on this topic, i am greatly confused by nipple placement on pecs
(i put a mature label on it at first bc idk shirtless damp men but i’ve been seeing more suggestive art that don’t have that label so i removed it (?) let me know if i should put it back)
Looking for the perfect kissing gloss with your boyfriend is like . . .
Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!
You’ve been kissing him for an hour on his bed, but he’s still not yet satisfied—at this point, you think, he never will be.
“Angel, try this one next…” he purrs, handing you the small sparkly tube of gloss.
The goal was to find the perfect kissing gloss, and you had a vast collection. Of course, sponsored by your disgustingly rich and hardworking boyfriend (maybe sugar daddy).
You wipe your lips with a new piece of wet wipe and apply the gloss he handed you. Plop! You puckered your lips, giggling as he looked up at you.
God, he looked so cute when you sat on top of him.
“I could die like this…” he says, awestruck.
You laugh, rolling your hips, knowing how to make it ache. “Like this?”
“You’re so cruel, angel.” He pouts.
For the nth time, you lean down and grab his face. “Then maybe you should punish me.” You whispered before crashing your lips onto his.
Seems like your boyfriend was really getting his money’s worth with these glosses!
Satoru Gojo (Nerdjo), Choso Kamo, Doma, Osamu Dazai, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Toru Oikawa (TS), Atsumu Miya (TS)
© This work belongs to @wkbsrco, DO NOT repost
Sakusa never spoke much about his private life while at work. The team knew he had a partner, only because he mentioned it once, and they assumed whoever it was must be similar to him.
So they were shocked when he arrived at the New Year’s party holding hands with you. Your face was adorned with a bright smile and you waved eagerly the second you faced the rest of the attendees.
“This is my fiancé,” Sakusa said, using his free hand to gesture to you as if it wasn’t obvious who he was talking about.
“Hi!” you greeted cheerily.
“If anything happened to her, I would kill everyone in this room and then myself,” he added for no apparent reason other than seeing Atsumu, Bokuto and Hinata’s jaws drop at his unusual display of affection.
You chuckled as if this was completely normal. “It’s so nice to be here, I’ve heard a lot about you!”
“Now get back to the party, thank you.” After finishing his introduction, Sakusa swiped you away so you could both wash your hands in the bathroom.
The silence settled for only a minute, until-
“Pay up, ‘Tsumu. Told you he didn’t make her up.”
masterlist
THEY ACCIDENTALLY PROPOSE DURING AN ARGUMENT PART TWO | PART 1 here
Including: Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, Bokuto Koutarou, Miya Atsumu, Sakusa Kiyoomi
TW: major angst, slight nsfw, fighting
AUTHOR’S NOTE: read part one first please, this will absolutely not make any sense whatsoever if you do NOT read the first part. It’s linked up top.
★ OIKAWA TOORU I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry
You stood in front of him, every word, every thought stripped down to nothing, dying on your tongue before they had a chance to form.
His lips were moving, but the ringing in your ears was deafening. You blinked once, shock overwhelming your senses. Time seemed to drag on, only to be disturbed by a velvet box being shoved in your face.
The ring glinted between you like a taunt, like it was meant to provoke you in some way. It should have felt like a turning point, a gesture of love so big it eclipsed every fight you’d ever had. But instead, all you felt was the years of begging, the years of waiting, fighting, and the realization that this was far from what you wanted.
You stared up at him, your throat constricting, eyes void of any tears. You’d cried enough over this—enough over his lack of initiative, his lack of understanding. You’d had this conversation before—many times—and still, nothing had changed.
“Tooru…” Your voice was hoarse, flat. “None of this… none of this changes. This doesn’t fix anything that’s happened.”
Oikawa’s face crumpled in confusion, panic flickering across his eyes. “What are you talking about? Of course it does. I’m asking you to marry me, Y/n. I’m telling you I want you—only you.”
“You’ve been telling me that for years.” Your words cut through the room like glass, sharp but quiet. “And I’ve been telling you for years that I don’t feel seen, that I don’t feel like I matter next to everything else you’ve chosen.”
He flinched, the words landing heavy. “You matter more to me than anything,” he said quickly, almost desperately. “Please—you’re the only one I want to come home to. You’ve always been the only person I’ve ever needed.”
You shook your head, cutting him off, the sound brittle. “You don’t come home to me. You aren’t present with me—you don’t make an effort to spend time with me. You don’t care enough to ask me about my day or find time to take me out on a date. I’ve been with you for so long, Tooru. And I’ve realized that you know nothing about me. You tell me that I’m the only one, but you make me feel like I’m not even worth your time.”
His breath hitched. His hands trembled where he held the ring box. “I—God, I didn’t know you felt like that. I thought… I thought this would show you…”
“It doesn’t show me anything. If anything, it’s a reminder that all this time I’ve had to beg you to see me. I’ve had to beg you for the bare minimum. I think you stayed with me because I was comfortable—you got complacent.” Your voice broke now, low and raw. “This—all of this—just makes me sad. Because you think a ring can undo years of me feeling like this. I’ve felt like this for so long, and you can’t say that I’ve never told you—because I have, many times. You just don’t listen to me.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. He set the ring box down slowly on the coffee table, like it weighed a hundred pounds. “I do listen to you—I listen to everything you say to me. Everything you say matters more to me than anything,” he whispered, voice fraying at the edges. “I love you—can’t you see? Let me fix everything.”
“That’s the problem. You don’t listen to what I’m saying to understand me, to see me, to make me feel heard and validated. You listen to respond.” Your eyes burned, but you refused to let the tears fall. “You don’t try to fix you. You try to fix me. You apologize to me, you fucking beg me to forgive you, promise me that you’ll change, and then nothing. Your actions do not reflect what you say to me. It’s a cycle. It’s the same shit—the same fight—we make up, we have sex, and then nothing changes.”
He sank onto the couch, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. For once, he didn’t have a comeback—no sarcasm, no charm. Just a man realizing his own failure too late.
“Tell me what to do,” he murmured through his palms. “Please. Tell me how to make you stay.”
You stared at him, heart splintering. “I’ve been telling you for years,” you said softly. “And still—you just don’t listen.”
He looked up at you then, and you saw the boy you’d met years ago—the boy who burned so brightly he lit up every room, who thought he could outwork his flaws, who thought love could be proven like a score on a scoreboard.
You stepped back, your voice shaking. “I can’t marry you, Tooru. I can’t even keep doing this with you. I’m tired. I’m so tired.”
His face went pale, eyes wide and wet. “Are you leaving me?”
“I think a part of me already has—I probably should have left a long time ago.” The words came out cracked, like they’d been waiting inside you for a long time.
He didn’t move. He didn’t follow when you turned toward the door. You heard his breath hitch—a low, broken sound you’d never heard from him before—Oikawa Tooru, the man who was always composed, always smiling, unraveling in the quiet of his own apartment.
The ring sat between you on the coffee table, gleaming under the lamp like a cruel joke.
You walked away, leaving the silence behind you as you slammed the door to the apartment.
And for the first time since you’d known him, Oikawa didn’t chase after you—he just stood there, hollow and unmoving, watching the only thing he’d ever truly wanted slip away, realizing too late that love alone had never been enough to make you stay.
⸻
★ BOKUTO KOUTARO i think this one is the sweetest one out of all of them
The air surrounding you was still tense with the echoes of your fight.
The ring box that Koutaro had thrown at you now sat abandoned on the coffee table, the air heavy and cold with the kind of silence that made your chest ache.
You sat curled up on the far end of the couch with your knees tucked close to your chest, staring at the floor, your breath uneven from all the crying. Every time you blinked, your eyes began to well with tears, throat burning every time you swallowed. You just wanted quiet—five minutes of peace.
But Bokuto wasn’t going anywhere—couldn’t, not even when you begged him to stay with Atsumu for the night.
He stood a few feet away from you, his hair a mess, eyes rimming with irritation and hurt, and he’s still wearing the same t-shirt he’d stormed in with earlier. His chest rose and fell like he’d just come off the court, breath shaking with every inhale, hands balled into fists at his sides as if trying to find something to hold on to.
“Baby,” he said softly, voice frayed. “Please…I am begging you, just talk to me. I can’t—I can’t just go to bed after all that and I’m not fucking leaving until we fix this.”
You didn’t look up, eyes flicking towards the window. “There’s nothing that I haven’t already said. I don’t have anything else to say to you, Koutarou.”
“Yes, you do baby. You always have everything to say.” He took a step closer, cautious, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he moved too fast. “You’re still upset, I can tell. And the way you feel is completely valid—I really, really fucked up. I hurt you in a way I didn’t think I ever could.”
Your jaw clenched. “You didn’t just hurt me, Kou. You forgot me. And it seems to be a pattern—anytime something really important comes up, you’re never there. I know tonight might’ve been different but…every other time, you could’ve taken time off.”
The words hit him straight through. He sank down on the floor in front of you, sitting cross-legged, elbows on his knees, staring up at you with glassy eyes. “I know,” he said hoarsely. “I know, baby. I just—when things get busy, I lose track of everything in front of me. Sometimes I even lose sight of what’s really important to me—and believe me, I’m trying. But that’s not an excuse—if you can’t see my effort, then it’s not enough and I know what I need to do.”
“But you always say this. I know work comes first, I know you have to attend meetings, and travel—but nothing changes between us,” you whispered, tears finally spilling again. “You say you don’t mean to. You say you’ll do better. And for a while, things are better. But then the season starts, or there’s a new deal, or another dinner, and suddenly I’m back here, waiting for you to remember that I exist.”
He winced, hands trembling against his knees. “I never forgot that you existed, babygirl. I just—” His voice broke, cracking raw. “I need to find a balance between work and my relationship with you. When I’m working, when I’m focused, I don’t know how to stop—the grind mentality is the only thing I’ve known. I don’t know how to slow down and stop and appreciate what’s around me sometimes. But that doesn’t mean you’re not my whole world. You’ve kept me grounded since the day we met.”
You wiped your face with the heel of your hand. “I shouldn’t have to fight to be seen in the world of the person who loves me the most. I just want you to see that I matter, that my dreams matter too, that our future is all I think about. I want you to celebrate those moments with me.”
He crawled closer, hesitating just before he reached you. “Things are going to change. This is the last time that you deserve to feel this way.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Can I please, please just hold you?”
You didn’t answer—just stared at him through blurry eyes. But when he reached out, gentle and uncertain, you didn’t pull away. His arms came around you, careful, tentative at first, then tighter when you didn’t resist. The moment his hand found the back of your head, the dam broke. You sobbed into his chest, fists clutching his shirt, shaking from exhaustion and heartbreak.
He just held you. No words, no promises — just quiet apologies pressed into your hair.
“I hate fighting with you, it fucking kills me.” he whispered eventually, voice raw against your temple. “I hate when I make you cry.”
“I hate fighting with you, it’s not fair to either one of us,” you murmured, pulling back to look at him. “I hate that we keep doing this. Things need to change, Kou.”
He nodded, eyes wet, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “Baby, I promise you, this is the last time. I’ll be better—I know I have to earn your trust back, I know I have to prove myself.”
Your laugh was small, tired. “You don’t have to prove anything to me tonight.”
He smiled faintly — that soft, boyish one that still made your heart ache — and shook his head. “No, I do. Just… not the way I did before.”
You frowned as he reached for the ring box on the table, picking it up carefully, like it might break if he held it wrong. He turned it over in his palm once before opening it again.
“Earlier,” he said, voice trembling, “I said ‘marry me’ because I was scared that you were going on walk out on me. That’s not what I want this to mean. I don’t want it to come from fear—you don’t deserve that. I want it to come from this. From us. From how much I love you, even when we’re a mess, even when things are hard.”
He looked at you, tears shimmering in his eyes. “Loving you is the best decision I’ve ever made. Loving you in easy. So I’m asking again, because I’m scared to lose you, but because I don’t wanna spend one more night forgetting how lucky I am to have you. I want this for the rest of my life. Will you marry me? For real this time.”
Your heart cracked open all over again. You could barely breathe, barely think—all you could do was nod, choking out a small, tearful “yeah.”
His face broke into the softest, most fragile smile you’d ever seen. He slipped the ring onto your finger with shaking hands, then leaned forward to kiss your forehead.
It wasn’t fiery or desperate. It was slow, reverent, the kind of kiss that said everything words couldn’t.
You both sank into the couch together, too drained to move, wrapped up in each other’s warmth. His hand found yours where the ring glinted faintly in the low light.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he mumbled, voice heavy with sleep.
“I know,” you whispered, tracing lazy circles over his chest. “Just…don’t forget about me again.”
“I would never,” he breathed, and this time, you almost believed him.
By the time the city outside went quiet, the two of you were already asleep—tangled in each other, the fight finally giving way to peace.
⸻
★ IWAIZUMI HAJIME this one is kindaaaa steammyyyy
You stared at him for a long moment, chest tight, hands trembling. The silence in the kitchen suffocated both of you, and the ring in his hand gleamed like it had a heartbeat of its own.
“Y/n…” His voice was barely above a whisper, raw and vulnerable, “Can you fuckin’ say something, please. I—I just don’t know what I’d do if you—if you say…” His words trailed, broken, the fear that had haunted him spilling into the open.
Your throat burned, but your lips found a small, trembling smile. “Yes,” you said softly, voice thick with emotion. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
The words hit him like sunlight breaking through a storm, the air newly knocked itself out of his lungs in disbelief. His brown eyes went wide in shock, his hands shaking so violently you thought he might drop the ring. “You…you said yes?” His voice cracked, disbelief rolling into joy. “You really—?”
“Yes,” you breathed, taking a careful step closer, letting the vulnerability of your own tears show. “How could I say no? I love you more than I’ve loved anyone. I’ve always loved you, it’s always been you. This…this doesn’t scare me. I’ve always wanted this—I’ve always wanted you.”
Hajime froze, chest rising and falling rapidly, like he needed to inhale every word you’d just said. Then slowly, like he couldn’t believe his own courage, he reached for you. His hands brushed your cheeks, gentle but insistent, thumbs stroking your skin, wiping away the tears, and his forehead rested against yours.
“I’ve been such a jackass,” he murmured against your temple, voice low and rough. “I didn’t mean to shut you out, baby. I was just scared…I hate admitting that but I was scared that you’d say no. Scared I’d fuck up the proposal.”
Tears slipped down your cheeks, and he brushed them away, his touch feather-light but grounding. “Hajime,” you whispered, “all I want is you. Just…you. You’ve always been enough for me, for everyone around you. I don’t need anything more or anything less. Just you.”
The kitchen felt smaller, warmer, every sound of your heartbeats mingling with his. His lips found yours, slow at first, tentative, like testing the waters after a storm. But when you responded, his hands tightened around you, pulling you flush against him, trembling kisses cascading over your mouth. The urgency of the fight, the fear, the relief — it all poured out in that kiss, raw and emotional.
You clung to him, feeling the trembling strength beneath his embrace, his hands roaming your back, fingers gripping your hair, grounding you, pulling you closer to him. His breaths mingled with yours, heavy and uneven, soft moans escaping as he pressed closer. Every kiss, every brush of lips and teeth and tongue, was a confession, a promise, a tether between the two of you.
“I’m so in love with you,” he murmured against your lips, voice low and shaky. “I couldn’t imagine what my life would look like without you. I never want to let you go—you’re everything I’ve ever wanted.”
“I love you,” you whispered back, letting your tears fall freely now. “I’ve always loved you—since we first met.”
He groaned softly, heart shaking against yours, lips capturing yours again, this time slower, deeper, savoring every inch. Hands slipping beneath your shirt, touching your waist, pulling you impossibly closer until the rest of the world melted away. The fight, the anger, the fear — it all dissolved in this moment, leaving only you and him, raw and alive and utterly unafraid.
Eventually, you both sank onto the couch, limbs tangled, breathing ragged, foreheads pressed together, hearts hammering in sync. He brushed stray hairs from your face, his thumb tracing your cheek, and whispered, “We’re gonna be okay, baby. Promise I’ll fix everything. I’ll make sure you never feel like this again.”
You shivered against him, resting your head against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “I trust you, I always have.” you murmured, voice soft, filled with everything words couldn’t hold.
His arms tightened around you, and the kitchen faded into nothing — all that existed was the warmth, the trembling, the love that finally, finally, felt like it could breathe.
And when sleep took you, you did so tangled in each other, the ring shining softly on your finger, a quiet promise of forever, and the storm outside had nothing on the storm inside you both — because this one ended in surrender, in trust, in love.
⸻
★ MIYA ATSUMU my baby. I got carried away with this one
“Marry me. Please. I don’t care that it’s ugly like this, in the middle of a fight, with the neighbors watchin’.” His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, desperate. “I can’t stand ya thinkin’ I don’t want ya, that I’d ever choose anyone else other than you. You’re it for me, y/n. Always have been. I can’t do life without ya—I won’t.”
The whole street felt like it had gone still—the air, the lights, even the neighbors held their breath. Atsumu Miya, brash and arrogant and infuriatingly impossible, knelt trembling before you, his messy, ugly truth finally spilling out into the night.
And you just stared at him.
For a long moment, the world was nothing but the sound of your heartbeat and the faint hum of the streetlight above you. Atsumu didn’t move—didn’t breathe. The velvet box shook in his hands, his eyes wide and tearful, a thousand unsaid things trembling behind them.
“Baby I…I can’t…” he choked, voice cracking, trembling. “I can’t lose you, not like this. You don’t understand—I would give my fuckin’ life for you! I love you so much it fuckin’ hurts, and I can’t…I can’t imagine one second without you!”
Tears streamed down your face, a sob left your lips, and for the first time in hours—you let yourself feel every ounce of anger, every ounce of frustration, the betrayal of thinking he was being unfaithful. “Atsumu…” you whispered, voice breaking.
His chest felt tight, almost like it would cave in on itself with every ragged breath he took. “Look at me, babygirl. Please. Don’t walk away from me. Don’t do this to me I—I can’t—” His voice broke again, loud and raw, half sob, half shout.
“This isn’t…” your voice cracked, barely a whisper. “This isn’t what I wanted—‘Tsumu I-I just wanted the truth—“
He looked up at you, completely undone. “And ya think I wanted this?” he rasped, chest heaving. “I wanted this to be something special—something so much more than whatever the fuck this is. I wanted to make ya feel loved, make ya feel like the luckiest girl in the world—I didn’t wanna make ya cry, baby, not like this. But I can’t—I can’t let you walk out on me thinkin’ I’d ever cheat on ya.”
Your throat burned. “Then why did you lie to me? Why did you sneak around and act like you didn’t care? You just shut me out, Atsumu—”
“I was fuckin’ scared!” he shouted, the word tearing out of him before he could stop it. “I was scared that it wouldn’t be enough, that me proposing to you wouldn’t be enough, that you’d look at me and—fuck, that you’d say no. I was scared that I might lose the love of my life.”
His voice broke on that last word. You watched his head drop, shoulders trembling, and something in your chest gave way. The silence that followed wasn’t peaceful, it was thick, suffocating—heavy with everything you both hadn’t said.
Your chest tightened. You’d never seen him like this—so stripped of arrogance, so unfiltered, so achingly vulnerable. You took a shaky step forward, and he closed the distance in a heartbeat, arms circling your waist, pulling you into him with tears streaming down his cheeks. You clung back, holding him against you trembling with every sob, letting yourself feel everything you’d bottled up too.
And then, as if the universe couldn’t take it either, the sky cracked open. Thunder cracked, lightning struck throughout the night sky, clouds weeping alongside you both.
Heavy drops of rain began to fall, darkening the pavement around him. Within seconds, you were both soaked—hair plastered to your face, shirt clinging to your skin, exposing your bare skin to the world, the ring in his hand catching the blur of streetlight and storm. Atsumu let out a shaky, almost disbelieving laugh, tipping his head back.
“Perfect,” he muttered bitterly, wiping his eyes even though the rain made it pointless. “Now the fuckin’ sky’s cryin’, too.”
You couldn’t help it—you laughed, too. A small, broken sound that tasted like salt and rain as you sniffled.
And that’s when your chest collapsed in on itself. You looked down at him, a small smile on your lips, voice trembling as you whispered, “Sweet boy,”
He looked up at you then—devastated but eyes hopeful, still on his knees in the downpour. Rain clung to his lashes, and the moon reflected through his eyes. He was beautiful, always had been, even like this.
“I don’t care how ugly things get. I’ve always loved you more than you could ever imagine. So…yes.”
Atsumu froze. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. Rain streamed down his cheeks, mingling with his tears as his head fell forward, a strangled, perplexed laugh escaping him. “Yes? Yes to what?”
“To marrying you.”
He laughed again—half-sob, half-disbelieving joy—his forehead falling against your stomach, arms wrapping around your waist as if grounding himself in the truth of you.
Rain slicked streets, lights blurred around you both—and neither of you seemed to care. And then he stood, towering over you with tears in his eyes, like his entire world has just been pieced back together. He grabbed your face, thumbs swelling softly against your cheeks as he searched your face for the truth.
“I don’t want ya to say yes just because ya feel obligated to,” he whispered, hands shaking. “Don’t say it if ya don’t mean it, baby.”
“Baby…I mean it, always will.” you choked, your voice trembling but steady enough to convince him.
For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Just the rain between you, cold and relentless, dripping from his jaw to your lips, mingling with your tears. Then Atsumu exhaled—a shaky, broken sound—and you barely had time to breathe before his lips were on yours—sweet, desperate, a collision of a sincere apology and insatiable hunger. It wasn’t soft, it didn’t dare to be. It was everything you’d both been holding back, spilling out all at once without any reservations.
You gasped against his lips, fingers tangling in his soaked hair as he pulled you impossibly closer to him. The rain made your clothes cling to your skin, cold and slick, but his touch burned everywhere, a reminder than the fire between you still burned bright. His lips traced frantic paths down your jaw, to your throat, sucking deep purple marks into your skin that tasted of rain and salted skin.
“This…this wasn’t how I imagined this would happen,” you moaned between kisses, voice breaking, breath hitching as his hands slid beneath the hem of the shirt clinging to your body.
“I know,” he rasped, lips brushing the corner of your mouth, the edge of your chin. “I fuckin’ know, baby. But I don’t care—not right now. It’s just me and you, that’s all I care ‘bout”
He stopped himself with a shudder, forehead pressing to yours, the two of you trembling, breathing the same ragged air. For one suspended second, the world narrowed to this—the heartbeat under your palms, the taste of him on your tongue, the rain pounding around you like static.
“I don’t wanna let go, you’re all I’ve ever wanted.” you murmured, barely audible.
He smiled—small, absolutely wrecked. “Then don’t, babygirl. It’s always been me and you,”
Then, without another word, his lips were on yours again before he lifted you, pulling you close, shoulder catching you as he practically carried you to the apartment. The door slammed behind you; the world outside disappearing into the sound of rolling thunder. There’s a heartbeat of silence—just you both, rain dripping, pooling beneath your feet, absolutely breathless, staring at each other, shivering from adrenaline and cold and desire.
“You’re fuckin’ perfect, ya know that?” he muttered, fingers brushing the damp strands of hair from your face, cupping your cheeks like he’s memorizing them, needing you in every way.
“I’m far from perfect, we both are.” you tease, voice shaky, teeth chattering from wet clothes clinging to your skin.
“I’m far from perfect, but you…you’re beyond perfect, always have been, my baby. And it’s just for me.” he growled, tugging you into him again. His kisses are desperate, hungry, your arms tangled around his neck with a moan, his hands roamed every inch of your body, tugging at the shirt clinging to you, pulling it over your head to reveal the bare skin of your hips. Your lips crashed together in a chaotic rhythm, every moan, every shiver, every ragged breath is raw and real as his hands held you down, pulling you back towards him to ground you.
And you know it’s only just the beginning of a sleepless night, the world outside forgotten, and right now, this is enough. You both are enough for one another.
⸻
★ SAKUSA KIYOOMI I’m apologizing in advance
You didn’t move. The ring glinted between you like a cruel joke — a promise that showed up far too late. Your throat burned, chest rising and falling too fast as the silence between you hung.
Then you laughed—sharp, breathless, disbelieving. “You’re fucking with me,” you said, shaking your head. “You have to be.”
His brow furrowed, the faintest flicker of confusion breaking through his composure. “What? Why would I be screwing around with something like this?”
“Because this—” you snapped, gesturing to him — to the ring, to his kneeling form, to everything. “You really think this is something I can accept? You think proposing after ignoring me for weeks makes it okay? I have had to beg for your attention, Kiyoomi!”
“That’s not what I’m—”
“No, that’s exactly what you’re doing!” Your voice cracked, anger flooding through the ache in your chest. “You don’t even talk to me, you don’t see me, and now—what? You just throw a ring at me and hope it changes everything? That I won’t beg you to love me anymore, that I won’t cry because you refuse to touch me, that I won’t scream at you like this because I’m tired of not being treated right?”
His jaw tightened, the muscle twitching. “Don’t do that, don’t say that. It’s not fair, you know how—“
“Oh, don’t you dare,” you spat, eyes stinging. “Don’t you dare tell me what’s fair. I begged you to let me in, Kiyoomi. I begged. I would’ve gotten on my hands and knees if you would’ve just listened to me! You shut me out over and over, and now you decide this is the moment to ask me to marry you? After all of this?”
His voice rose, quiet but razor-sharp. “Because I’m trying! I’m trying to do the right thing, to show you that I—”
“That you what?” you cut in, shaking your head, bitter laughter bubbling up. “That you love me? You don’t even know how to show it unless it’s on your terms. Everything has to be perfect for you, doesn’t it? Every word has to be rehearsed, every move you make it controlled. You can’t even love me without making it complicated!”
His composure cracked — just slightly, just enough. “You think this is easy for me?” he said, voice low and shaking. “You think I don’t fight myself every damn day to keep our relationship together? I’m not good at this. I know I’m not. But I thought—” His throat worked, and his voice broke mid-sentence. “I thought if I could make it right, maybe you’d finally see how much I—”
“I do see it,” you said, tears spilling now, voice trembling with fury. “And that’s the problem. You only show me that you care when we fight, when you feel like I’m about to walk out on you. Ive been checked out from this relationship—at least emotionally. You just don’t show me when it matters most—and I don’t deserve that.”
The words hit him like a physical blow. His hand fell from the open box, the ring still glinting faintly between you. His eyes — wide, wet, unsteady — locked on yours. “Don’t say that I don’t show you that I love you. I show you in the only way I know how,” he whispered.
You swallowed hard, forcing the next words out because someone had to. “I can’t marry you, Kiyoomi. I refuse to beg you to treat me like I mean something to you when another man would do it in a heartbeat without question.”
He froze. No breath. No sound. The world went painfully still.
“What?” His voice was barely a whisper.
You shook your head, wiping your face. “You heard me. I cannot marry you. Not like this.“
“Love, please” His voice cracked again, rough this time, trembling with something raw. “Don’t do that. Don’t throw this away because I messed up.”
“You didn’t mess up,” you said, voice low but shaking. “You waited. You waited until I was ready to walk out the door to finally decide I was worth the risk. And now you want me to just… what? Forget how lonely this has been? I’m the only one in this relationship, Kiyoomi. Am I supposed to just forget how small you make me feel every time you shut me out?”
He took a step forward, desperate now, the mask fully gone. “I’m trying to tell you I can be better!”
“But I’m tired of waiting for that!” you cried, the sound shattering the air between you. “I’m so fucking tired of waiting for you to be ready to love me in the way I deserve—it’s been almost four years! Four years of me begging, of me trying to get you to see me!”
He flinched. His shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him like blood. The box slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a dull clatter.
Neither of you moved.
You stared at him — the man you’d loved, the one who’d built walls so high even his love couldn’t reach through them — and you realized this was it. The breaking point.
When he finally spoke, his voice was hollow. “So that’s it?”
You took a shaky breath, forcing the words out even though they hurt like hell. “Yeah,” you whispered. “That’s it.”
He nodded once, eyes red, chest rising and falling unevenly. For a moment, it looked like he might say something else, might reach for you — but he didn’t.
And maybe that said everything.
You stepped around him slowly, your hand brushing the wall for balance as you passed. The rain had started outside, faint at first, tapping against the window. You didn’t look back when you reached the door.
Behind you, the sound of your footsteps faded — and somewhere between one breath and the next, Sakusa’s composure finally broke.
The ring lay between you both, glinting faintly in the half-light — a symbol of everything that could’ve been, now just another piece of the wreckage.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
I really luv you people bc it’s fucking 5am in Germany right now and I put my whole ass into writing this. Smh. Should I write a version of this for JJK perhaps? I think so.
when love isn't enough
starring. miya atsumu x fem!reader
genre. angst.
wc. 6.3k
author's note: as promised from my terminated account, a part 2 of this will be posted around this week
read part two here
The clock was ticking in the silence of your shared apartment.
You were sitting down at the dining table with the cake—a small one, barely enough for two. Vanilla, with strawberries on top. He always liked it simple.
Your makeup was still intact, somehow. Though your lashes were heavy, your lipstick was untouched. The dress—soft, deep wine red with a low back and lace detail—was something you'd kept hidden for weeks. Just for tonight. Just for him.
You imagined how his face would light up when he saw you in it. How his hands would sneak around your waist, tug you close, whisper something teasing in your ear. “God, ya look like a dream.”
But there was no hand. No voice.
Just you, alone in the dim light.
Your phone buzzed once earlier, a missed notification from a group chat. Not him.
You glanced at the clock. 11:23 PM.
You sighed softly, lips curling upward—not in joy, not even in amusement—but in that sad, pathetic way you smile when you're trying to hold yourself together for no one but yourself.
Then you leaned forward and blew out the candles.
The room felt colder when they disappeared. Quiet.
You reached for the knife and cut a slice for yourself. Not out of hunger. You hadn’t really tasted anything lately. But it felt worse to leave it untouched.
You took a bite.
You took your phone out, not expecting much—just the habitual numb scroll through stories, a reflex more than anything else.
Your thumb paused when you saw it.
Osamu’s story. Posted just a few hours ago.
It was a photo of a dinner table cluttered with empty plates and beer cans, laughter frozen in the shot. In the background, you could see Atsumu, head thrown back mid-laugh, still in his practice shirt, cheeks flushed from the alcohol and good company.
You tapped the sound on.
“Oi, Atsumu—don’t choke on that,” Osamu’s voice echoed over the short video. Someone else snorted in the background. Atsumu leaned in toward the camera, clearly tipsy, grinning wide.
“M’fine, shut up—ya’re all just jealous I got the biggest contract!”
The video cut out.
Your chest felt heavy.
He looked so...happy. Carefree. As if he had nothing waiting for him at home. No occasion. No you.
You set the phone down on the table, screen-down like it had offended you.
It wasn’t anger that burned in your throat. It was something quieter. He hadn’t just forgotten—he’d chosen where to be. Chosen where to pour his laughter.
It would’ve been fine if it was the first time. If this had been a one-off, a fluke in the chaos of his career. You could’ve forgiven that. You had, before.
But it kept happening. Again and again.
Late nights with no calls. Missed dinners. Canceled plans. You, sitting alone in places where he promised he’d meet you. You, keeping quiet. You, making excuses—for him, to him, even to yourself.
You’d tell yourself, he’s tired, it’s not easy being in his shoes, he still loves you.
But love stopped feeling like warmth and started feeling like waiting. Like being on the other end of a phone that never rings. Like dressing up for someone who never comes home. Like blowing out candles by yourself.
And tonight, you couldn’t lie to yourself anymore.
This wasn’t about a forgotten anniversary.
This was about being forgotten at all.
You settled down the plate with the finished cake, your fork scraping gently against the porcelain as you pushed it aside. Quietly, you stood, wrapping the rest of the untouched dessert and placing it into the refrigerator with mechanical motions—one hand, one breath at a time.
The apartment felt colder now. The silence was no longer peaceful—it was hollow.
You turned off the kitchen lights and walked down the hallway, the soft click of your heels echoing against the wooden floor. Your bedroom was just ahead. All you wanted now was to take off the dress, wipe away the last of your makeup, and disappear beneath the covers.
Then the entrance door creaked open.
Your steps froze mid-stride.
Keys clinked against the bowl by the door. A bag dropped with a dull thud. You didn’t turn around.
“Shit—why’s it so dark?” came his voice. Slurred slightly. Tired, maybe. Maybe tipsy. Maybe both.
You didn’t speak. Just stood there in the hallway, fingers curling slightly against the fabric of your dress.
Atsumu stepped further inside, the shuffle of his sneakers muffled by the rug. You could hear him notice the faint scent of candle wax, the leftovers of something special long since put away.
Then— “Wait…fuck.”
He realized.
You still didn’t turn around. Not yet.
Not when it was too late.
Atsumu saw you standing at the end of the hallway, your silhouette bathed in the faint amber glow of the bedroom light behind you. You hadn’t moved—frozen in place, arms wrapped loosely around yourself, like you were holding in whatever strength you had left.
His gaze trailed over you—your hair still done, makeup intact, and that dress. That dress. The one he remembered saying he wanted to see you in someday. And tonight, you’d worn it for him.
“Baby… you’re all dressed up,” he said softly, as if it only just dawned on him what tonight was supposed to be. His steps faltered. “Shit, did I—was tonight—?”
“Don’t,” you whispered, voice barely audible over the distance between you.
He blinked. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t act surprised.”
Your voice was calm. Too calm. The kind that came after hours of holding everything back.
“I waited,” you said. “From sunset until now. I waited with the cake. With candles. With music. I waited dressed like this, hoping you'd just come home.”
“Baby, I didn’t mean to—”
“But you did.” Your eyes lifted to meet his. “You meant to go out. You meant to stay out. You meant to laugh and drink and forget what today was.”
He stepped forward, reaching out. “I didn’t forget—I just—things ran late, and I—”
You stepped back. “Don’t lie to me, Tsumu. Not tonight.”
The silence that followed was sharp.
“I saw Osamu’s story,” you said quietly. “You looked happy. Carefree. Like nothing was waiting for you back here.”
His face crumpled slightly, but no excuse left his lips.
“I didn’t ask for anything big,” you continued. “I didn’t need a hotel or a five-star dinner. Just you. Just your time. Just us.”
He opened his mouth—then closed it.
“I don’t even know why I bothered dressing up,” you laughed bitterly. “You didn’t even notice the damn dress until now.”
“I did. I notice. I swear, I do,” he said, desperation lacing his voice now. “You look beautiful.”
“It’s not about looking beautiful, Atsumu.” Your voice cracked. “It’s about being seen.”
That shut him up.
You turned then, fingers trembling as they reached for the zipper at the back of your dress.
“Where are you going?” he asked, like the question wasn’t too little, too late.
You didn’t face him.
“Packing up my things, Atsumu.”
Silence. Then—“What? No, wait—what are you talkin’ about?”
You stepped into the bedroom, pulled open the closet with practiced restraint. The rustle of fabric, the scrape of a suitcase being dragged from under the bed—it all sounded too loud in the quiet that followed.
Atsumu appeared in the doorway, disheveled and wide-eyed, like the weight of it was only just starting to land on him.
“You’re not serious,” he said, voice unsteady. “You’re not leavin’, right? Baby, please. Just—just talk to me.”
You folded a blouse. Then another.
“I’ve tried talking to you,” you said, your voice dull, tired. “For weeks. Months, even. But you were never really here.”
“I’m here now—”
“Now,” you cut him off, sharp. “When I’m finally done. When there’s nothing left to celebrate or salvage.”
You turned to face him then, eyes shining—not from hope or love, but from exhaustion. From the way trying to hold onto him had worn you down, thread by aching thread.
“Atsumu, this isn’t the first time.”
Your voice shook, and so did his breath.
“I would’ve forgiven you. God, I wanted to. I tried. I tried so hard to understand everything—to be patient, to tell myself you were just busy, that it wasn’t personal, that you’d come back to me.”
You took a shaky step closer, not to close the distance, but to be sure he heard every word.
“But I’ve been understanding you for so long I forgot how to stand up for me.”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“I swallowed the loneliness. I let it rot in me quietly. I blew out birthday candles alone. I celebrated small wins by myself. I’ve cried into pillows so you wouldn’t hear when you finally came home.”
Your voice cracked then, just once. But it was enough.
“I kept loving you even when you forgot how to love me back.”
His expression shattered, grief spilling out too late, too loud, too broken.
“I never stopped loving you,” he choked.
You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes.
“Maybe not. But you stopped showing it. And that’s what made the difference.”
Atsumu stepped closer before you could pull away, before you could put another wall between you and the love that used to be enough. His arms wrapped around you from behind—tight, desperate, trembling.
You froze.
The heat of his chest pressed against your back, his head bowed between your shoulder blades like he couldn’t bear to look you in the eye.
Your shoulders felt damp.
It wasn’t until you heard the broken inhale that you realized—he was crying.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice wrecked and hoarse. “I’m so fuckin’ sorry, baby.”
You stood there, breathing uneven, heart thudding painfully against your ribs. His fingers dug into the fabric of your coat like he was terrified you’d slip through them if he loosened his grip.
“I thought I had more time,” he choked out. “I thought I was doing enough. I didn’t—I didn’t see how far I was pulling away.”
You closed your eyes. The tears on your shoulders burned.
“It’s not just about tonight, Tsumu,” you said quietly. “It’s about all the nights you never showed up.”
“I know,” he said, barely audible. “I know I messed up. I know I don’t deserve you waitin’ anymore, but please—don’t go. Don’t go like this.”
His voice cracked on the last word, and you felt it—his chest trembling against your back, like his whole body was unraveling, collapsing inward under the weight of everything unsaid and far too late.
And it hurt.
God, it hurt.
Because you still loved him.
He was still the man you fell for. The man who made you laugh until your sides ached, who held your hand under café tables, who promised you the world in quiet moments between games and crowded arenas. The man you built a future around—shared toothpaste with, shared mornings with, shared dreams with.
He was still the man you loved.
And that made it worse.
Because love wasn’t the problem. It never had been.
It was everything else—the silence, the absence, the way you kept reaching out and finding nothing on the other side. It was the dinners eaten alone. The anniversaries forgotten. The promises that turned into excuses.
It was the fact that love wasn’t enough when it wasn’t shown. When it wasn’t fought for.
And now, here he was, breaking down behind you, arms clinging to you like a lifeline he’d only just realized was slipping away.
But you weren’t sure if you could save him this time.
Not without losing yourself.
“I’ll fix this, baby,” he pleaded, voice shaking as he buried his face against your shoulder. “Just—don’t leave me. Please.”
His grip tightened like he was trying to fuse himself to you, like holding you hard enough would somehow erase the nights he didn’t. His breath was ragged, his words rushed and uneven.
“I know I fucked up,” he whispered, “I know I did. But just—give me a chance to make it right. I’ll do anything. I’ll change everything. Just don’t walk away from me.”
Your eyes fluttered shut.
Because god, hearing him like this—raw, wrecked, desperate—it tore you apart. A part of you wanted to turn around, to wrap your arms around him and say it was okay. To say you’ll be okay.
But that would be a lie. And you’d told yourself you wouldn’t lie for love anymore.
You swallowed the lump in your throat.
“Atsumu,” you said softly, not cruelly. Just honestly. “You keep saying you’ll fix it. But every time I stay, I’m the only one trying.”
He didn’t say anything—he just held you tighter, like silence could make up for everything.
But it couldn’t. Not anymore.
You turned around and faced him.
His arms dropped to his sides as if the simple act of looking at you knocked the breath from his lungs.
His usual cheerful self—so loud, so bright, so undeniably Atsumu—was gone. No smirk. No cocky charm. No playful glint in his eyes.
Just him. Raw and devastated.
Eyes red, lashes damp, lips parted like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. His brows were drawn tight, and the crease between them—the one that only ever showed when he was truly overwhelmed—was deep.
It hurt.
It hurt in ways you couldn’t name.
Because even now, even after everything, your heart still twisted at the sight of him like this. He looked like a boy who'd lost his way. Like someone who only just realized the warmth he’d taken for granted was now standing with one foot out the door.
“Atsumu...” you whispered, voice cracking around his name.
He looked at you like you were the last thing he had left to hold onto.
And maybe you were.
But your heart didn’t know whether to reach for him or finally let go.
His eyes were glassy—a mirror to yours. A reflection of every quiet night you'd spent holding back tears, of every moment you'd stared at the door wondering if he’d remember to come home. Now he stood in front of you, eyes just as broken, just as full.
You inhaled shakily, your voice barely above a whisper.
“I love you so much, Atsumu.”
And you did. Even now, even after everything. You loved him in a way that made your chest ache and your hands tremble. Loved him so deeply that walking away felt like tearing your own heart out.
His breath hitched, lips parting as if those words physically struck him.
“Then don’t leave me,” he said, stepping closer. “I’ll leave volleyball if that’s what you want. I swear—if that’s what it takes to keep you, I’ll walk away from all of it.”
Your eyes widened, the weight of his words crashing over you like a wave.
“Atsumu,” you said, pain threading your voice, “I never asked you to give up your dreams.”
“I don’t care about the game if you’re not in the stands anymore,” he said, voice cracking. “It means nothin’ if I come home and you’re not here. None of it matters without you.”
You shook your head, tears slipping silently down your cheek.
“That’s the problem,” you whispered. “You only remembered what matters when you were about to lose it.”
“My dream is being with you,” he said, voice trembling, eyes desperate—like if he said it enough, you’d believe him more than he believed it himself.
You reached up, brushing away a tear that had finally slipped free.
“I know, Tsumu,” you whispered, “but volleyball is also your everything.”
“I can leave it behind,” he said quickly. Too quickly. Like it was a decision he’d throw out just to keep you from walking away.
“Atsumu, no.”
He flinched at the firmness in your voice.
You took his hands, slowly, gently—like holding something fragile.
“I might mean as much to you as volleyball does. Maybe even more right now. And that’s… that’s everything to me. But I never asked you to stop.” You blinked back the burn in your eyes. “I never wanted to be the reason you gave up the thing you’ve built your entire life around.”
His fingers curled around yours tightly, as if he was scared letting go meant losing you completely.
You looked up at him, voice soft but resolute.
“I wanted to grow beside you. Not be what you sacrificed.”
He swallowed hard. “But if it’s the only way I get to keep you—”
“It’s not,” you cut in, shaking your head. “What I needed wasn’t for you to quit. I just needed to stop feeling like I came second.”
And for the first time, he understood. Not just with his ears—but with his heart.
You didn’t want to take his dream away. You never did. All you ever wanted was to be included in it. To be remembered when the crowds faded, when the court emptied, when the adrenaline wore off.
Your chest ached as you looked at him—tear-stained and silent, eyes pleading like he didn’t know how to exist without you.
You reached up and cradled his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing against the wet streaks on his cheeks. Your lips quivered as you leaned your forehead against his.
“God, Atsumu,” you whispered, voice breaking. “I love you so much it hurts.”
And it did. Deeply. Fully. Enough to make this harder than anything you’d ever done.
He closed his eyes, like he wanted to live in those words forever.
But you weren’t finished.
Your voice softened to something even more fragile. Something that barely made it past your lips.
“But if I continue to stay, Atsumu… I’ll lose myself.”
His eyes snapped open.
“I’m already slowly losing it,” you said, a tear slipping down your cheek. “Every time I choose to understand you and push my needs aside, every time I wait and hope and pretend it doesn’t hurt—I disappear a little more.”
He shook his head slowly, hands trembling as they gripped your waist. “No… no, please, don’t say that.”
“I have to,” you whispered. “Because I need you to hear it this time. Before it’s too late.”
Atsumu looked at you—really looked at you—and his heart splintered at the sight.
Your tears were falling now, slow and silent, tracing the curve of your cheeks like they had nowhere else to go but down. There was no yelling. No dramatic breakdown. Just quiet, aching sorrow. And somehow, that made it so much worse.
It hurt.
God, it hurt him to see you like this.
But what tore him apart—what made his throat tighten and his knees weak—was knowing he was the reason. That the person standing in front of him, shattered and exhausted, wasn’t crying because of the world or some cruel stranger.
It was because of him.
And that broke every part of the boy he used to be.
He remembered. High school. That day he found you crying behind the gym after some girls said something cruel about your clothes. About how you didn’t belong. How you weren’t enough.
He’d held your hands then—smaller, shaking—and he’d made a promise.
“I won’t let anyone make ya cry ever again, y’hear me?”
You had smiled through your tears. Believed him.
And here you were now, years later, crying again.
Because of him.
His breath hitched, and he stumbled a step back like the weight of it knocked the air out of his lungs.
“I promised,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “I swore I’d never be the one to hurt you.”
You smiled softly, a small, broken thing that didn’t quite reach your eyes.
“I know, Tsumu,” you said, your voice gentle despite the weight in your chest. “You did.”
And you meant it.
You remembered the sincerity in his eyes when he made that promise all those years ago. The way his hands clutched yours like he could shield you from everything that could ever go wrong. Back then, he meant every word.
And maybe even now, he still did.
But love wasn’t just about meaning well. It was about showing up. Choosing. Not just once, but every day. And somewhere along the way, he stopped choosing you in the ways that mattered.
So your smile lingered, tender and aching all at once, like a goodbye dressed in love that still hadn’t faded.
Your hand grazed Atsumu’s cheek, fingers brushing against the wetness of his tears. His eyes fluttered shut at the touch, as if it grounded him, as if it was the only thing keeping him upright.
You leaned forward, slowly, carefully, your forehead pressing against his for a heartbeat, your breaths mingling in the quiet space between you.
Then you kissed him.
Soft. Lingering. Gentle.
It wasn’t hungry or rushed or desperate. It wasn’t about fixing anything or making promises you both weren’t sure you could keep.
It was a farewell. A thank you. An I love you and I wish things were different all tangled in one final kiss.
Atsumu kissed you back like he knew.
Like he felt the goodbye in it too.
And when you pulled away, your hand still resting on his face, you looked at him one last time.
“I’ll always love you, Atsumu,” you whispered, voice barely holding itself together.
His eyes searched yours, frantic, full of panic he was trying to keep down.
“We need to find ourselves once again, Atsumu,” you continued, your thumb brushing against the corner of his mouth, shaky and tender. “And maybe… just maybe, we’ll still end up in each other’s arms.”
Hope flickered across his face. His hands tightened around yours.
“We can do that together,” he said quickly. “We’ll figure it out—side by side. We don’t have to let this fall apart.”
You shook your head gently, sadly. “No, Tsumu. By ourselves.”
He froze.
“Right now, we’re holding on so tightly we’re bruising each other,” you said. “We keep trying to fix things while we’re still breaking. It’s not love anymore—it’s survival. And that’s not fair to either of us.”
His mouth opened, but nothing came out. Just pain.
“If we stay like this,” you said softly, “we’ll keep hurting each other.”
And the worst part?
You knew you were right and so did he.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” he whispered, voice cracking as his hands trembled in yours. “I’m so sorry I made you feel this way.”
You looked at him, eyes soft, tired.
“I know,” you said quietly. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. None of it was intentional.”
And that’s what made it worse.
Because there was no villain here. No betrayal, no cruel words or shattered trust. Just neglect born from love stretched too thin. Just silence where effort used to be.
It hurt, Atsumu—God, it hurt—that despite everything, despite the missed calls and lonely nights and the way you were made to feel invisible, you were still understanding. Still trying to hold compassion in the same hands that held all your aching.
And he saw that now—how deeply unfair that was.
How you kept bending while he kept assuming you’d never break.
And now here you were, broken, still loving him. Still gentle with the pieces.
“I’ll send you off,” he said, voice barely holding itself together, like the words physically hurt to say.
You looked up at him, your suitcase by your side, your coat already on, and gave him a soft smile. One full of memories and endings.
“I’ll be fine, Atsumu.”
It was simple. Quiet. Final.
And it shattered him more than any scream ever could.
You stepped forward, one last time, and pressed a kiss to his lips—gentle, lingering, full of everything you couldn’t say anymore.
His eyes fluttered shut, like he wanted to freeze this moment, live inside it just a little longer.
When you pulled away, your hand stayed against his cheek for a second more. Just enough.
“Good luck with everything, Atsumu, okay?” you said, voice steady despite the way your heart was breaking. “I’ll still be cheering you on.”
A tear slipped down his cheek, and you brushed it away with your thumb.
“You’ll always be my number one star.”
You gave him a small smile, one that wavered at the edges.
“I love you, Atsumu.”
Then you turned and walked away—
And this time, he didn’t stop you. He just stood there, watching the love of his life leave with grace, and all the pain in the world stitched quietly into her goodbye.
Once the door shut, silence filled the apartment.
It was loud in a way silence shouldn’t be—pressing, hollow, unforgiving.
Atsumu stood frozen in the entryway, staring at the door like it might open again. Like maybe you'd come back and say you forgot something—your charger, your earrings, his heart.
But you didn’t.
You were gone.
The echo of your laughter, once so full and bright, no longer danced through the walls. It was just a memory now—soft, distant, fading fast.
And the space that used to be warm with your presence felt unbearably empty.
He sank to the floor slowly, back pressed against the door you had just walked through, like maybe if he stayed there long enough, he could still feel the warmth of your goodbye.
His head fell into his hands, fingers tangled in his hair, and for a while, all he could do was sit in the stillness you left behind.
Then he looked up.
The hallway stretched before him, dim and familiar—but suddenly unfamiliar all the same.
The pictures of the two of you hung neatly along the wall, framed snapshots of better days. Your beach trip. A blurry shot from his first pro game. A birthday dinner where you wore that green dress he loved.
You were smiling in every one.
So was he.
But now—now that he really looked—he saw it.
The difference.
Your smile back then was bright. Unburdened. It reached your eyes, curved your whole face into joy. It wasn’t just happiness—it was peace. Safety.
And lately… your smile had been quieter. Smaller. As if you were trying to hold it in place. As if it had become something you gave to him, even when you had none left for yourself.
How did he not notice?
How did he miss the way your joy had faded in real time, right beside him?
Atsumu pressed a palm to his chest like that would stop the ache from spreading, like if he held himself hard enough, he could keep the pieces from falling apart. Like maybe—just maybe—he could rewind time with sheer desperation.
But the clock kept ticking.
He rarely cried. Not even after a loss, not even when the whole stadium turned quiet in defeat. He was the one who gritted his teeth, slapped backs, cracked jokes to mask disappointment.
But now, with your scent still lingering in the air and your last words echoing in his head, the tears came. Quiet at first, then sharp—like everything he had been holding back all these months suddenly collapsed under its own weight.
What hurt the most wasn’t just the silence.
It was the truth.
Everything you said—every single word—was right.
You did wait. You did understand. You did try to hold both of you together when he couldn’t be bothered to look up from his schedule. He thought love was enough to cover the distance. He thought you’d always be there.
But love needed showing.
And he hadn’t. Not when it mattered.
Atsumu curled into himself on the floor, tears soaking the sleeves of the jersey he hadn’t changed out of. Not because he didn’t care—but because he hadn’t realized until it was too late.
And now the person he loved most had walked out the door…
And this time, she didn’t take her heart with her.
She left it behind—cracked and aching—right in his hands.
The following morning came, slow and unforgiving.
Light spilled through the curtains, soft and golden, but it brought no warmth. Only the reminder that time kept moving—even when hearts didn’t.
The bed beside Atsumu was empty.
Sheets untouched, cold.
He turned his head, almost instinctively, hoping for the weight of you, the shape of you, the soft sighs you made as you stretched into the day. But there was nothing. Just the pillow you used, slightly indented, still holding the ghost of your presence.
The room still smelled like you.
Your perfume—his favorite. The one with soft notes of jasmine and vanilla, the one he’d always picked out for you whenever he went overseas. He used to joke that it helped him find you in crowds, that you always smelled like home.
Now it haunted him.
He sat up slowly, staring at the space where you used to lie. Your hair would’ve been fanned out against the pillow. You would’ve mumbled something sleepy, pulled the blanket tighter around yourself.
But there was only silence now.
Atsumu brought a hand to the sheets, gripping them tightly, knuckles white, as if holding onto the fabric could somehow summon you back. Could somehow pull you out from the spaces you’d left behind. From the warmth that used to be there—now gone cold.
The door creaked open.
“Did you finally fuck up?” came Osamu’s voice from the doorway, quiet but sharp. Not unkind, but not sugarcoated either.
Atsumu didn’t look at him. Just nodded, eyes fixed on the hollow beside him.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “Fucked up big time.”
Osamu stepped inside, taking in the room—the perfume lingering in the air, the suitcase no longer by the closet, the untouched side of the bed. The silence.
He sighed, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.
“She texted me last night,” he said, voice low. “Told me to check on you. To make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.”
Atsumu finally looked up at that, his throat tightening.
“She still loves you, Tsumu,” Osamu continued, gently this time. “Anyone with eyes could see that.”
Atsumu blinked hard, jaw clenched.
“But she was right,” Osamu added, his voice firmer now. “She needs to find herself first again. And maybe… maybe you do too.”
Atsumu dropped his gaze again, fingers still curled in the sheets, the scent of you wrapping around him like a memory that refused to leave.
And for the first time, he didn’t argue.
Didn’t make excuses.
He just sat there—quiet, aching—finally understanding the cost of not noticing until it was too late.
“It was never your intention to hurt her, Tsumu,” Osamu said, his tone gentler now, the edge softening as he looked at his brother—slumped, hollow-eyed, and surrounded by absence.
Atsumu didn’t respond, just pressed his palm to the mattress again, as if it might still give him something. Anything.
Osamu hesitated before adding, “She also said something else… about a letter. Told me to remind you. Said you’d find it in the bedside drawer.”
Atsumu’s head turned slowly.
His heart dropped.
He reached across the bed with trembling hands and pulled the drawer open. It creaked softly, like it, too, had been holding onto something it didn’t want to let go of.
And there it was. A folded envelope with his name on it—written in your handwriting, the one he knew like his own breath.
He stared at it for a moment. Afraid to touch it. Afraid to open it and see the goodbye you hadn’t said out loud.
But he picked it up anyway.
Because part of him still needed to hear your voice, even if it was only in ink.
Atsumu opened the envelope with shaking hands, the paper soft and slightly wrinkled—like you had held it too long before tucking it away. Like maybe part of you didn’t want to leave it behind either.
His eyes scanned the first line, and already his throat tightened.
My darling Tsumu,
I don’t know how to start this without crying. But then again, I’ve been crying for a while now. Quietly. In rooms we used to fill with laughter. In restaurants where I sat alone, pretending I was just early, when really, I was just forgotten.
I know you didn’t mean to hurt me. I know that in your heart, there’s never been anyone but me. And I want you to know, I never doubted that. Not once.
But love doesn’t survive on intention alone.
Do you remember that day I waited at the café for three hours? It was the first time in weeks we’d both had a free afternoon. I picked the place because you said the view reminded you of one of your old training camps. I kept the seat across from me open, ordered your favorite drink, kept looking up every time the door opened.
You never came.
You forgot, Tsumu.
Do you remember when I got the call about my job offer? The one I’d worked so hard for? I called you first. And when you didn’t pick up, I waited. I waited because I wanted to celebrate with you—only you.
But you were on a flight to an away game you never told me about. I found out through Osamu’s story later that night.
I opened a bottle of champagne by myself. Toasted the ceiling.
Pretended it was enough.
And then there was that night I got sick—really sick. I called you, barely able to speak, asking if you could come home. You said you’d try. I fell asleep on the bathroom floor waiting for you. You never came.
It wasn’t about one missed moment, Atsumu.
It was how those moments kept piling up.
It was the way I kept shrinking myself to make room for your world, while mine was slowly fading in the background.
It was the way I became quieter, more patient, more forgiving—until I realized I was starting to forget what it felt like to be seen.
I still love you. That hasn’t changed. Maybe it never will, but I need to remember who I am without waiting on a door that doesn’t open. I need to find the version of me that doesn’t flinch every time the phone buzzes with a maybe.
And I think…
I think you need to find the version of you that remembers how to show up.
Please don’t hate yourself. Please don’t let this break you.
You’re still the same boy who held my hand when I was scared of thunder. Still the man who kissed my forehead before big meetings, even half-asleep. Still the star I looked up to, even when you forgot to shine for me.
I hope someday we find our way back to each other—with brighter hearts, and steadier hands.
And if not…
I’ll still be cheering for you. Always.
The letter slipped from Atsumu’s fingers, landing softly on the bed.
And this time—He didn’t try to hold back the tears.
It was rare—painfully rare—for Osamu to see his twin like this.
Atsumu had always been the louder one, the bolder one. The one who puffed out his chest, who cracked jokes even after losses, who grinned through pressure and acted like nothing could touch him.
But not now.
Now, he was quiet. Folded in on himself like something sacred had been taken from him. His eyes were swollen, cheeks wet, fingers clenched around the edge of the bed like they were the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.
And Osamu—he just stood there, watching, helpless.
Because God knows how much Atsumu loved you.
He saw it.
He saw it from the very beginning—back in high school, when Atsumu used to stare at you across the gym instead of focusing on drills. When he’d grumble about how annoying you were one minute, then show up the next morning with your favorite drink from the vending machine like it was nothing. Like it hadn’t taken him three buses and an early wake-up just to get it in time.
He saw how Atsumu lit up when your name popped up on his phone. How he bragged about you to teammates, to reporters, to anyone who would listen. How his eyes always scanned the crowd until they landed on you.
And he saw it shift, too.
When the schedules got tighter. When the dinners got postponed. When your laughter, once so constant, started to come around less and less.
He saw you dim.
And he saw Atsumu not see it.
Osamu ran a hand through his hair and let out a slow breath, stepping closer, his voice low but firm.
“You really loved her, huh?”
Atsumu nodded without looking up, his voice hoarse.
“Still do.”
Osamu glanced down at the letter still resting on the bed, its words bleeding into the silence like a wound that wouldn’t close.
“She didn’t leave ‘cause she stopped loving you, Tsumu,” he said gently. “She left ‘cause you stopped showing her you did.”
And Atsumu, for once, didn’t try to defend himself.
Didn’t argue.
He just sat there in the ruins of everything he’d taken for granted—
Grieving the girl he loved, and the version of himself she no longer had the strength to wait for.
“Fix yourself first, Tsumu.”
Osamu’s words weren’t cruel. They weren’t said to wound, or punish.
They were soft—quiet in the way truth often is when it’s spoken by someone who’s watched everything unravel from the sidelines. Someone who’s held back his own words for too long, waiting for the right moment to say what needed to be said.
Atsumu’s eyes stayed fixed on the floor, jaw clenched, but his walls had already crumbled hours ago. There was nothing left to hide behind.
He nodded slowly.
Because he knew.
He knew that no amount of begging could bring you back right now. Not when he hadn’t even learned how to be present. Not when he’d forgotten how to love without assumption—how to choose you again and again, instead of just expecting you'd always be there.
So for once, he didn’t say I’ll fix it.
Didn’t say I’ll make it right.
Because this time, the fixing had to start with him.
And maybe—just maybe—when he found the version of himself who didn’t take love for granted, he could finally be the man you needed when you stopped needing to heal from him.
© 2025 yukkigiri ☾ creations by luna — please do not repost, copy, or translate without permission.